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Enter Prince, with attendants.


Prin. Rebellious fubjects, enemies to peace,
Prophaners of this neighbour-ftained fteel-
Will they not hear? what ho! you men, you beafts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains iffuing from your veins;
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mif-temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the fentence of your moved Prince.
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old C pulet, and Mont que,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's ancient citizens

Caft by their grave, befeeming, ornaments;
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Cankred with peace, to part your cankred hate ;
If ever you difturb our streets again,

Your lives fhall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the reft depart away,
You, Capulet, fhall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place:
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

[Exeunt Prince and Capulet, &c. La. Mon. Who fet this ancient quarrel new abroach ; Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began ?

Ben. Here were the fervants of your adversary, And yours, clofe fighting, ere I did approach;, I drew to part them: In the inftant came The fiery Tybalt, with his fword prepar'd, Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He fwung about his head, and cut the winds :. Who, nothing hurt withal, hifs'd him in fcorn. While we were interchanging thrufts and blows, Came more and mere, and fought on part and part,. Till the Prince came, who parted either part.


La. Mon. O where is Romeo! Saw you him to-day? Right-glad am I, he was not at this fray.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd Sun (2)
Peer'd through the golden window of the Eaft,
A troubled mind drew me to walk abroad:
Where underneath the grove of fycamour,
That westward rooteth from the city fide,
So early walking did I fee your fon.

Tow'rds him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood.
I, measuring his affections by my own,
(That most are bufied when they're most alone)
Purfued my humour, not purfuing him; (3)
And gladly fhun'd, who gladly fled from me.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been feen
With tears augmenting the fresh morning-dew;
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep fighs:
But all fo foon as the all-cheering fun

Should, in the fartheft east, begin to draw
The fhady curtains from Aurora's bed;
Away from light fteals home my heavy fon,.
And private in his chamber pens himself;
Shuts up his windows, locks fair day-light out,
And makes himself an artificial night...


-an hour before the worshipp'd Sun Peer'd through the golden window of the East,

A troubled mind drew me from company:] This is a reading only of Mr. Pope's, as far as I can trace, who had a mind to make Benvolio a greater rake than we have reason to think him from any subfequent inftance. What, in company an hour before daylight? What odd kind of companions muft this Benvolio have conforted with? This reading very reasonably feduced Mr. Warburton into an inge nious conjecture;

A troubled mind drew me from canopy:

i. e. from bed. But I have reftor'd the text of all the old copies. Benvolio, being troubled and not able to sleep, rose an hour before day, and went into the open air to amuse himself.

(3) Purfued my bumour, not pursuing his.] But Benvolio did pursue bis; for Romeo had a mind to be alone, fo had Benvolio: and therefore as Dr. Thirlby accurately observes, we ought to correct, He did not purfue Romeo.

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Black and portentous muft this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the caufe
Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him..
Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means ?.
Mon. Both by myself and many other friends;
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself, I will not fay, how true;
But to himfelf fo fecret and fo clofe,
So far from founding and difcovery;
As is the bud bit with an envious worm, (4)"
Ere he can fpread his sweet leaves to the air,.
Or dedicate his beauty to the fun.

Could we but learn from whence his forrows grow,.
We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Enter Romeo.

Ben. See, where he comes: fo please you, ftep afide I'll know his grievance, or be much deny'd.

Mon. I would, thou wert fo happy by thy stay To hear true fhrift: Come, Madam, let's away. [Exeunt.Ben. Good morrow, cousin..

Rom. Is the day so young?

Ben. But new ftruck nine..

Rom. Ah me, fad hours feem long!
Was that my father that went hence so fast?

(4) As is the bud, bit with an envious worm,

Ere be can spread his fweet leaves to the air,

Or dedicate his beauty to the fame.] To the fame ?Sure, all the lovers of Shakespeare and poetry will agree, that this is a very idle, dragging parapleromatic, as the grammarians ftyle it. But our Author generally in his fimilies is accurate in the cloathing of them, and therefore, I believe, would not have overcharg'd this fo infipidly. When we come to confider, that there is fome power elfe befides balmy air, that brings forth, and makes the tender buds spread themselves, I do not think it improbable that the Poet wrote 3

Or dedicate bis beauty to the fun.

Or, according to the more obfolete fpelling, funne; which brings it nearer to the traces of the corrupted text. I propos'd this conjectural ementation in the Appendix to my SHAKESPEARE Reftor'd, and Mr. Fode has embraced it in his laft edition.

Ben. It was: what fadness lengthens Romeo's hours? Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them

Ben. In love?

Rom. Out

Ben. Of love?

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, fo gentle in his view, Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof!


Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled ftill, Should without eyes fee path-ways to his will! Where fhall we dine ?-O me!-What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all..

Here's much to do with hate, but more with love:
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
Oh, any thing of nothing first create!

O heavy lightness! ferious vanity!
Mif-fhapen chaos of well-feeming forms!

Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, fick health!
Still-waking fleep, that is not what it is!

This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

Doft thou not laugh?

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.

Rom. Good heart, at what?

Ben. At thy good heart's oppreffion.

Ram. Why, fuch is love's tranfgreffion.

Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have them preft
With more of thine; this love, that thou haft fhewn,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a fmoke rais'd with the fume of fighs,
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vext, a fea nourish'd with lovers' tears;
What is it elfe? a madness most discreet,
A choaking gall, and a preserving sweet:
Farewel, my cousin.

Ber. Soft, I'll go along.


And if you leave me fo, you do me wrong.
Rom. Tut! I have loft myself, I am not here;
This is not Romo, he's fome other where.
Ben. Tell me in sadness, who the is you love?


Rom. What, fhall I groan and tell thee?

Ben. Groan? why, no; but fadly tell me, who.
Rom. Bid a fick man in fadnefs make his will
O word, ill-urg'd to one that is fo ill!-
In fadness, coufin, I do love a woman.

Ban. I aim'd fo near, when I fuppos'd you lov'd.
Rom. A right good marks-man ;--and the's fair, I love.
Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is foonest hit.
Rom. But, in that hit, you miss;-fhe'll not be hit
With Cupia's arrow; fhe hath Dian's wit:
And, in ftrong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow, the lives unharm'd..
She will not stay the fiege of loving terms,
Nor 'bide th' encounter of affailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to faint-feducing gold.
O fhe is rich in beauty; only poor,

That when the dies, with her dies Beauty's ftore. (5))
Ben. Then she hath fworn, that she will still live chaste ? -
Róm. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste.
For beauty, ftarv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.

She is too fair, too wife; wifely too fair,
To merit blifs by making me despair;
She hath forfworn to love, and in that vow.
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.
Rom. O, teach me how I fhould forget to think.
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.

Rom. 'Tis the way

To call hers (exquifite) in queftion more:

I hofe happy mafks, that kifs fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;

(5) That, when he dies, with beauty dies her ftore.] This conveys. no fatisfactory idea to me. I have ventur'd'at a flight tranfpofition, which gives a meaning, warranted, I think, by what Rome fays in his very next speech. She is rich in beauty, and if the dies a maid, the cuts off that beauty from its fucceffion.

For beauty, farv'd with her feverity,
Cuts beauty off from all pofterity.


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